The Beast's Castle
by magik-blood
Summary: AU. Belle arrives from London to the French countryside in the summer of 1911. As her father is in declining health, she is presented with the coldhearted heir to a castle. Meanwhile, Babette arrives with dreams of becoming a lady's maid. As Belle feels like a prisoner in Lord Adam's world of opulence, Babette feels as though her life has just begun. DowntonAbbey!BeautyandtheBeast.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Hello all! As you gathered from the summary, this will be wildly AU but hopefully stay true to the characters we know and love. And while there will be OCs, they are inspired by the Beauty and the Beast original story, scrapped characters for the Disney movie, or just ones of my own creation. Mostly, this story will be GastonxBelle, Beast(aka Adam)xBelle, BabettexLumiere, GastonxOC, and so forth and so on. And the story will be heavily inspired by Downton Abbey and Titanic since it is set in the same era : )

If you'll be kind enough to leave a review, I'll most likely reply here in the author's note at the beginning of each chapter. Thank you!

* * *

"But he who dares not grasp the thorn

Should never crave the rose."

 _―_ _Anne Brontë_

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

 **B** elle existed in a world made up of titles, dinners, balls, coronations, outings, and tightly woven corsets.

Though, she may have fully existed in the Edwardian years of the early 1900s, and was even found to be a charismatic conversationalist on occasion, she did not live there. Belle Beaumont found no true interest in social ranks and stuffy upper-class traditions. The young woman of age 24 lived in stories of scandal, where heroes were darkly handsome rogues who seduced high-class women into a lifestyle of adventure and fast romance.

She would much rather spend a night reading salacious romance novels than partaking in pretensions dinners spearheaded by men who believed they commanded the stars in the sky.

Though Belle enjoyed hours of escapism in literature, she was not ignorant to the changing climate of the world. She found herself reading social commentary almost as much as read passionate fantasies. It was a hobby most women her age did not understand. And, the interest gave Belle a sharp tongue and a mind for discussion. Two unneeded qualities in a woman by most aristocrats' standards.

The young woman did not mind. She did not wish to acquire a suitor before the age of 25 and it was the furthest thing from her mind. Even if her next birthday was approaching at an alarming pace.

Life was full of excitement and opportunity outside the walls of her family home in London, England. There, she would gladly spend the rest of her days among her happy papa and her two younger sisters.

Clarice Beaumont was the middle child at 22. Though they were quite different in their outlooks on life, Belle cherished her opinions and insight. Clare, as she was called by her family, was far more connected to the outside world. That being said, she was also a bit more consumed by society. The sister also had her sights on every young man she came across. She would spend hours perfecting her hair and outfit and waste hours more chatting with gentlemen who looked past her beauty, only seeing a fortune her father would leave.

Belle never fussed much with her appearance and men often found she was less to look at than Clare. All though, for some reason, she was far more to think about.

The Beaumont family was one of the wealthiest in London, though one would not realize it at first. Maurice Beaumont, the father of the family, inherited fortunes from his father, and married a woman of equal wealth. Though, the father was slightly seen as an outcast among aristocracies of the like. He was a man with a taste for the arts and collected modern paintings, something others scoffed at. One glance at the smears and smudges in a Matisse left most confused and slightly insulted by the crass work. Yet, Maurice was a man ahead of his time. He relished pieces that the public found abhorrent.

Their estate in London was filled with odd sculptures and paintings that created a world of whimsy for the little family.

Truthfully, the girls did not mind the reputation their father had acquired for them. They loved him for his quirks and would often spend hours laughing at his stories from his life in Paris. _"Years past,"_ he would say, _"when I dined with mimes and partook in dubious acts with fellow artists..."_

And none of which loved their Papa more than the youngest; 18-year-old Emilia.

Emilia was still a child in the eyes of society. With her long dark hair still cascading down her back, and her large, bright, eyes, she was still naïve to the hardships of the world.

She was a smart girl, as all the Beaumont sisters sharply were, but her interests were still developing. And, at the moment, she fancied spending the day memorizing the names of royalty and their family history. Much to the dismay of her father, she had always been a keen royalist.

Emilia was too young to remember the darkest times the family faced; the death of Lady Beaumont. Their mother who unfortunately died when Belle was 7, and Clare 5. Maurice could never bring himself to speak of her passing and it left a vast hole in his heart and the hearts of his daughters. Worst of all, it left the elder two constantly wondering what she may have been like, or even, what in fact had killed her. They never did seem to find the words to ask their father just how it had happened.

Yet, the spring of 1911 brought the family dark times again.

Much to the resentment of Clare, the reluctance of Belle, and excitement of Emilia, the family had been traveling across land and sea to move into the manor of their influential Aunt Marguerite.

And, after taking a ship across the channel, lounging on a train for hours, and now partaking in a bumpy carriage ride through the country, the attitudes of the sisters had not much changed.

But one underlying fact remained the same; they had to leave London because their father was in declining health. And they had to prepare for the worst.

Aunt Marguerite had been the first to lend a helping hand to the family. Little did she know, she would be forever changing the course of all their lives. And, she would be pleased to hear it. She already had great plans for the girls and was eager to accept them into her life. She had been widowed many years ago and never allowed children of her own. So, with dinners set and invitations to local young men sent, she was prepared for the family, and still, unprepared at the same time.

But, maybe, it was Belle who was the least prepared of all.

Out of all the place and adventures she dreamed life would take her, she never did think some little provincial village in France by the name _Saint-Veran_ was in the cards.

As she leaned against the window of the carriage beside Clare and across from her Papa, she yawned with boredom at the thought of her new dull life.

Who waited for her in such a strange empty land? Was there any hope for the wild dreams she desperately yearned for?

She warned herself to no longer dream. That having any hope was foolish. She figured she would die a spinster without a single interesting story to tell.

But then again, she would be dead wrong.


	2. April 1911

**A/N:** So sorry for taking a minute to update! That's what I get for starting this so close to finals. Anyway, thank you for the feedback! Thank you JennaNoelle1997! And guest, I'm glad I've pulled you into another fic of mine, thanks so much! As for all of you others, please tell me what you think? Should I continue?

I honestly can't believe I'm back in the Beauty and the Beast fandom since posting one of my first fic here 8 years ago! This time, the characters are all mostly based on the 2017 movie though Gaston and Lumiere looks will be different. The other casting was spot on in my opinion. Let's begin!

* * *

 **April 1911  
** part 1.

* * *

Belle stepped out of the elegant carriage into the dirt road. She shaded her eyes with a gloved hand and looked up to a large, square shaped, red brick country home.

"Good afternoon, my Lady," came the voice of a butler who held open the carriage door for her. She greeted him with a smile and small nod. She noticed he was a middle-aged, short man, with round glasses, a large hooked nose, and a slight build. Not at all formidable, he had a friendly sort of look and an unassuming demeanor.

Belle glanced forward to notice a footman and maid waited nearby, presumably to help with luggage. She smiled warmly to them though they remained stony faced. She frowned and looked back to Clare who stepped from the carriage next.

"Well, prepare for a proper country welcome."

"Please, Belle. You sound like a city snob," laughed Clare as Belle forced a distasteful smile to her younger sister.

"What?" she asked, "Are we not _in_ the country? Did we make a wrong turn at Versailles?"

"Versailles?!" chirped Emilia as she burst from the carriage. The two elder daughters eyed a bit tiredly. She had been more talkative than usual on the ride from the train station, and they had suffered enough of her chatter.

"I don't remember seeing that! Did we really pass it, Papa?"

The girls looked to their father who grasped the handle of the door to steady himself before carefully stepping to the ground below.

He leaned on his cane and smiled tiredly to the house.

"If we did, it's not all it's cracked up to be, that's for certain," he laughed before suffering a small coughing fit. Emelia smiled to him, and took his hand in hers.

"Might I be the first to welcome you back to Saint Veran, sir?" came the same small voice of the butler. Maurice looked to the man as if suddenly realizing he was there.

"Digby! How nice to see you again!" the father cried in a jovially loud voice. "I'm so terribly sorry to trouble you all with our heaps of luggage."

"Not a problem, sir," the butler named Digby answered with an unbothered nod.

"I can't wait to see everything!" continued Emilia. "Can we go everywhere you did, Papa? We must plan a trip to the Eifel Tower soon- oh! And The Champ-Élyéese! Did you ever see the Notre Dame Cathedral? I mean the inside? I can't wait to sit near the Seine or the gardens… Just as long as we stay clear of that dreadful Opera with that phantom Belle would always scare me with tales of-"

"We already heard you," Belle interrupted her before glancing down the road to see a second carriage coming upon them, carrying their spare luggage and collections of art.

She felt a sudden sadness upon realizing something she had not though of before. Wherever they were to live next would only be a second-rate version of London. The paintings wouldn't sit in the same light. Her things would be organized in different draws. And, even if by some miracle she enjoyed France, somehow… it will always be less than.

"Good afternoon, my dears!"

The family looked to the entrance of the home to see their Aunt Marguerite, clad in an elegant white dress that poofed and twirled around her form. Her red hair was neatly pinned under a fanciful beplumed and flowered hat. Her face was just as oddly beautiful and kind as Belle and her sisters had remembered. With caring eyes and a pert smile, she always seemed to beckon them to share their gossip, and things they might not tell others. Though, she was considerate and loyal, she was a woman of her times, and thoroughly obsessed with social rank.

She walked over and greeted Maurice who tightly embraced her.

"My sister! Waiting inside for us? Is that the done thing over here?"

Marguerite laughed her usual loud boisterous chuckle, "The done thing? Since when did Beaumonts care about all of that? Besides, I haven't stayed more than five minutes in the sun since 1891! You know that! Oh, girls!" she said turning to see the three sisters standing in a line.

She pinched Emilia's cheek, patted Clare in the shoulder, and gently grabbed Belle's hands.

"And Belle! You've grown into quite the lady! Don't worry," she continued in a whisper, leaning close, "I've got plenty of fine young men lined up for you to meet! And English, too!"

Belle tried to smile, though it looked like more of a grimace. Maurice cleared his throat.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the house. Marguerite smiled and took his arm, guiding him into her homey country villa as Emilia trailed behind them.

"Wait until you see what chef prepared…" her voice carried on as Belle looked to Clare with a weary smile.

"What did she tell you?" Clare asked.

"Just a few empty promises, I'm sure" Belle said looking to the footman and maid they passed as they entered the house.

"What sort of promises?" Clare asked, glancing to the servants as well. They looked forward, though, the younger footman's eye slyly glanced her way. Clare looked back to Belle, pretending not to notice.

"The kind of promise involving fine young men," scoffed Belle before entering the manor.

"I wouldn't mind a promise like that," Clare answered, "even if it were an empty one!"

As they walked off, the footman had completely turned to stare at the back of the young women. He even granted himself a cheeky smile.

"Cogsworth!" hissed the maid beside him, giving him a smack across the chest. She was a stout older woman with a rough voice and equally unpolished demeanor. She glared to the young man, breaking him from his delusion. He looked to her as if unaware why she was scolding him.

"What?" he asked in a cockney English accent, "I was only inspecting the, eh, new arrivals."

The woman laughed dryly and shook her head, "Lucky as the devil you are! If that uncle of yours wasn't head over at the castle, you'dve been sacked long ago!"

He made a lopsided smirk before walking to carriage to gather the luggage.

The footman was 27-year-old Frederick Cogsworth, usually called Ricky. The newly hired and ambition young man was looking to climb the ranks of the household just as his uncle had. His uncle, who had given him a highly generous reference, was presently the head butler of the grand Saint Veran Castle. A castle he only had dreams of entering someday.

The footman was tall with abundant brown hair, a pointed nose, large ears that slightly stuck out, and green eyes that never could keep a feeling secret. He was handsome, and all too beautiful for his own good. His devilish smirks and winks often got him into scraps at local public houses. Then again, the man was more of a lover than a fighter, and took less pleasure in swinging punches than he did in swinging women.

Either way, he was a goodhearted man, though his eye wandered and wanted everything it saw.

The woman at his side was Aunt Marguerite's lady's maid, Mrs. Boggs. At first, she had been against the young man, but time had worn her down and she had surrendered to his charms and quirks. Though, Mr. Digby was still yet to be too impressed.

"Mister Cogsworth," his voice squeaked over the rattling of oncoming carriage, "takes these trunks at once and carry them to the stairs. We'll expedite things along by organizing the belongings once they are inside."

Ricky nodded, though the same smirk tugged at the corner of his lip.

"Watch your eyes, son. And who you share that smirk with," suddenly warned the butler. "These aren't some dinner guests we're dealing with."

"Of course, sir. I wouldn't dare to think otherwise."

"Though, we know he already has," came Mrs. Boggs with a laugh.

Ricky eyed her and Digby looked to him as if preparing to scold a child.

"You'd be a smart man to forget that right away," he stepped closer to Ricky and spoke under his breath, "and be weary of the eldest, Belle. I only knew her as a girl but, my! She was a wickedly sharp little thing. And, if she's board out here I imagine she'll be privy to rumors, and eager to tell her father of the randy footman that won't stop staring."

Ricky only forced a sour smirk to the older man.

"I assure you, you need not worry about such things. I know my place in the world. And how dare I ever forget that…"

Digby watched him carefully as he went to lift a couple of suitcases and carry them inside.

* * *

Belle stood statically in the middle of her new bed chamber. A medium sized room with a canopy bed and tall windows that opened like doors to the rolling green hills of the country.

She gazed out to the sight of the endless nature and she yearned for the grey skies of London.

"How do you like it?" asked Emelia walking in with a beaming grin.

"Oh," said Belle turning to her, "it'll do, I suppose. Though, it will take a while to get things just right."

"Well, I've never seen anything so ornate as French housing! I feel like Marie Antoinette!"

Belle raised a brow, "As do I… in more ways than one."

"Are you dressing for dinner? I don't see a point in it, not since we've only just arrived," she asked taking a seat on the bed.

"No… And I won't see much of a point in continuing with many a social protocol out here. I might jolly well let down my hair and run barefoot through the hills," said Belle with an air of arrogance. "Believe me, these country type won't notice or care what we do or how we do it!"

Emilia pouted, watching her sister fuss with the placement of her perfumes on her vanity.

"But that was England! This is France! It's a new world. Don't you see some excitement in that?"

"Not particularly."

"What? And you're the one always reading stories of adventures?"

Belle looked to her, rolling her eyes.

"Adventures of exciting places, yes. Not provincial little villages."

Emilia smiled despite her sister's cynical words.

"Well, I'm excited. I think this will be the start of something great!"

' _Or, the end of all things great',_ Belle wished to say. Though, she held her tongue, something she only did around the ever-optimistic ears of her youngest sister. Emilia was still a young woman, after all. And Belle envied how she never did look forward, longing for change. She always seemed content in the present moment and happy with exactly how she was. Belle could not understand such a surreal concept.

Suddenly, the sound of a bell rang out, causing Belle to slightly start.

She sighed irritated upon realizing it was the dinner call.

"Good heavens, are we expecting the _bloody_ fire brigade?"

Emilia gasped at her language and Belle instantly covered her mouth, apologizing to her sister.

* * *

"To happiness, prosperity, and new beginnings!" proclaimed Marguerite, raising her glass of champagne as the others did the same.

"And good health," added Clare with a smile to her father who sat beside her.

"And very good health!" the aunt agreed before the group took a sip of their drink.

They had gathered in the moderately lavish dining hall before the soft glow of candles. Digby stood by offering a selection of drink as the family began the first course.

After a long moment of settling into the meal, Marguerite was quick to leap into discussion of her plans for the near future.

"I've sent out letters near and far requesting the presence of many a remarkable dinner guest. Really, you girls will have days of excitement before you!"

Clare smiled to Belle who only continued to sip her drink.

"Oh sister, don't go through all of that just for us!" said Maurice.

"I'm not doing it for us, I'm doing it for them!" retorted Marguerite, gesturing to the girls. "Why, Is it true Emilia has not been properly introduced to society yet as a grown woman?! How deplorable!"

"That's what I've been saying!" came Emilia.

"Rubbish! Milly's only a child!" Maurice proclaimed.

"I'm 18, papa."

He looked to Emilia with a frown.

"Well, 18 is still young, you must admit."

"No one's arguing that point," said Belle. "It is bit ridiculous, though, if you ask me. We treat her so childishly."

"Thank you, Belle. I can always count on you to my voice of reason," said Marguerite causing Belle to nearly choke on her bite of salmon.

"So, if no one else it bothering to ask, I'll take the bait," began Clare. "Who are these fine dinner guests you've reached out to?

Marguerite dabbed her lips, her eyes lighting at the thought.

"There's a duke, an heir to the railroad company, Laird and Lady Pyridine who I'm sure you've met, and then there's good old Captain Chappie, and his promising son, a young man as handsome and eligible as the day is long!"

Clare and Emilia giggled to one another as Belle took another long swig before asking Digby for a refill.

"Oh," said Marguerite suddenly remembering another name. "Silly me, there's one more. Lord Adam Ravenwood. He lives nearby in the Saint Veran castle."

Belle narrowed her brow at her aunt's odd tone. She seemed reluctant to even bring the man into discussion.

"That was the castle we passed on our way into town," inferred Emilia. "Wasn't it, auntie?"

"I imagine so. It is hard to miss. We used to call the Ravenwoods the folks on the hill, being they lived up there so separate from the rest of us. To me, it always looked like something out of a fairytale, haunted by the ghosts of Saint Veran past."

"Sounds dreadfully eerie!" gasped Clare.

"Do you see the family often?" asked Emilia.

Marguerite looked down to her plate and Belle noticed her forehead crease with a pained expression.

"That's the terrible thing… you see, Lady Laroche Ravenwood died of typhoid fever about 10 years ago. Then, 5 years later, old Lord Ravenwood perished in a hunting accident leaving his only child heir to it all at age 26."

"Poor soul," began Maurice. "What is the joy in having an estate so large with no one to share it with?"

"And that's the rub, the young man has nobody. Not a relative living closer than Paris."

"But what is he… like?" asked Clare a bit hopeful, "is he charming?"

"I cannot well say. You see, he keeps himself to himself. I haven't seen him in ages, not since the last spring ball they held before the father's passing."

"The Castle is an empty vessel now, though I hear the servants keep up with it, and he just sulks about."

"My, my," came Belle judgmentally, "sounds like something out of a gothic novel! A rich young man surrounded by demons and self-loathing."

"I imagine he'd be happy to know he had such a reputation," responded Margarita. "From the rumors I hear, he's a character for sure! But you see, that's the French in him. He is English bred, but his father raised him like King Louis! He was consumed by the culture. You know, the Rococo fashion, high healed, face powered, and all!"

Maurice choked on his wine.

"I can't blame the boy," he began with a cough, changing the subject. "Why, if I was left at such a young age with an entire castle to maintain, I'd submit to the stress of it all, as well!"

"I don't see why," said Belle, "he has all that influence and land and he just sleeps on it? He doesn't sound like a proper Lord to me."

"Well, he sounds like a very interesting man to my ears!" injected Clare. "And he has no prospects of marriage yet?"

Marguerite sipped her wine, seeming to contemplate a tough thought.

"I won't pretend that me and the others don't whisper of such matters, or that such bold chatter is beneath me…"

"We all know it isn't," laughed Maurice.

"Very well, so I won't keep you all in the dark," she continued. "It is known that Lady Laroche Ravenwood threw all her inheritress into the castle, and then the late Lord Ravenwood spent it all, gambling and throwing elegant costume balls. He drove the castle into the ground and it won't be possible that the present Lord Ravenwood will be able to run it much longer… that is, unless…"

"Unless he marries a rich girl," said Belle, raising a brow. The party looked to her and she looked back to them befuddled. "What? Is that not what you were implying?"

"Pardon me," came Maurice again, "can I hear one promising thing about this young man before the next revolution?"

"Oh, there's plenty!" said Marguerite with a swat of her hand. "For example, he's been welcomed in court not only in France but in England. You see, we aren't so separate after all.

"I never doubted it," he said with a nod.

"Well, he sounds absolutely mysterious to me!" said Clare optimistically. "But, I suppose it would be unfair to judge him without properly making his acquaintance."

"Does he ever open the estate? Perhaps for a picnic or ball?" asked Emelia.

"He hasn't. No. But I'm sure he'll come around. He can't spend the rest of his days alone. Why, he may even have the annual Veran spring ball this season!"

Emilia and Clare's face lit at the, though Belle remained unfeeling.

"If you haven't heard a word from this phantom Lord, then what makes you so sure he hasn't a lady of his own in mind?" she questioned tartly.

Marguerite blinked, "I suppose he may, but if it were someone, then it would have to be maid!" she laughed loudly at the absurdity of it.

"This day and age I wouldn't put it past a reasonably opened minded young chap!" declared Maurice. "These times are changing, and quicker than ever before! I long for a day the English put such social divides aside all together!"

"Times aren't changing that quick, I'm afraid," muttered Belle. "And I don't think they ever will."

"They might, who knows what the future holds," said Clare. "Women will have the vote and America will lead the world into a thoroughly modern age."

"It already is a modern age!" argued Marguerite. "And times will never be better than this. Especially for England and France."

With that, the next course was brought out and the party went back to the food. Digby passed off a empty stack of platters to Ricky who quickly dashed off, traveling downstairs to the kitchen.

There, he was met with a woman who was sprinting back and forth around a kitchen looking like mad for fresh basil. She muttered under her breath in French while Ricky stood and smirked at her.

Then, he noticed a cluster of the herb stuck under a plate. He plucked it and gallantly presented it to her like a bouquet.

"For you, madam!" he declared, a thin long arm extended to her.

The chef, a thin wisp of a middle-aged French woman called Mrs. Browning, snatched it from his hands with a sigh of relief.

"Ah! I was looking high and low for this stupid thing!" she looked to him with a smile.

Mrs. Browning was the type that one would imagine to be quite beautiful once. Though, time had clearly not been on her side, and the years added a jaded quality to her once fair looks. Yet, if once looked close enough, it was clear that beauty resided behind dull hair and creased skin.

"So… do not keep me guessing, _mon ami_. How are they? Has old Digby dropped dead from heart failure yet?"

"Not yet. Though, he's stiff as a board standing with his nose pointed to the ceiling."

"Poor devil, he'll be flustered for weeks to come. But what of the daughters, what are they like?"

"They're all right, I suppose," he shrugged. "Real posh-like. Not like any young girls I've been acquainted to."

The woman frowned at his words.

"And… you're acquainted to them?" she asked, reminding him that he was not.

He paused, glancing to the floor. "You know what I meant."

She smiled, adding the basil to the chicken platter.

"You better watch what you say. Mrs. Boggs told me about earlier, you daring fool!"

"Can no one keep their mouths shut around here?" he asked slightly miffed.

"Not now! Not when things are finally getting interesting."

"I just don't see why everyone is so quick to remind me of who I am! Do you all think I've not yet noticed?"

"Sometimes, the way you act, I do wonder."

"What's wrong with having confidence?"

"Where you distribute it."

He grinned, always admiring her quick tongue. But, a slight edge of disappointment lingered behind his eyes. He took the platter of chicken and elegantly turned with the tray to leave.

* * *

A young woman stepped out from a plain carriage, her feet landing on old cobblestone. She placed a hand on her hat as she looked up to the grand sight before her. Her eyes nearly filled with tears, something she had not been expecting. The sight took her back to years ago, to the last time she had stood before the Saint Veran Castle…

She looked back as the driver reminded her of the payment she owed. She smiled curtly and quickly offered him a few coins. The last of her money.

He thanked her, stuffing the coins in his pocket, then gazed back to the castle with a scowl.

The Saint Veran Castle had inspired poems, fantasies of medieval legends, and modern feelings of great romance. It was immaculate, looming, powerful, and quaintly beautiful as it sat surrounded by an ominous fog. The castle itself looked as if it were painted by a great artist. With vines curling up the sides of its ornate architecture, it could not have been more appealing had it been painted in oil.

"It's been a while since I've dropped someone off here," began the driver. "Can't imagine why anyone would want to step foot in the ruddy place."

The young woman pulled her single suitcase from the carriage and smiled to the driver.

"Well, I want to. I want to very much," she looked longingly to her new home as it was framed against the dark blue dusk sky.

He narrowed his brow gripping the reigns.

"I suppose you're the new maid?"

She nodded, "The best offer I've received. A chance to work in a real castle."

He stared to her, unmoved by her large eager eyes.

"Best of luck to ya, the servants entrance is 'round the back."

With that, he pulled away, the horses trotting leisurely down the long entrance path.

The woman looked forward, lifting her head slightly higher and stepping toward the grand manor.

* * *

" _Un, deux, trios_!" shouted a man in the servant's dining hall in the Saint Veran Castle as another began to play a crooked, beat up, piano.

The dining hall was composed of a long wooden table where servants would either eat during breaks or sit and entertain themselves in their downtime.

All servants in Saint Veran Castle lived in servant quarters located in the castle or lived close by on the castle's land. And, all though the death of the original Lord and Lady changed much about the amount of work expected from the staff, their general day to day life changed little.

But, less work meant more time to entertain one's self. And there was one man who could always be counted on to do just so.

He was the enigmatic first footman and unofficial valet to the Lord of the house; Louis Lumiere. He was unofficial due to Adam's reluctance to allow another to wait on him so personally. And, since it had been years since Adam had an event to look particularly good for, there was no reason for a man servant ironing his clothes and mending buttons.

Also, Lumiere had served as old Lord Ravenwood's valet for years. And, before that, he had started as a footman, learning the trade under the valet that came before him.

Lumiere, as he respectfully called by all, was tall and thin with long facial features and dark brown hair. The most charming feature the man possessed was most likely his large light eyes. He was just under the age 40, though, all would agree he had the spirit of a man half his age. He was thoroughly a French man and prided himself in his ability to entertain all, especially his ability to bring a smile to a lady's face.

Lumiere looked around to the dull company that occupied the dining hall. He noticed the head house maid mending an apron, and another young footman smoking a cigarette and flipping lazily through the day's paper.

"Oh, come on! Aren't you all bored of the same old routine?" he asked as the jaunty piano music played on.

The head maid looked to Lumiere with questioning smile.

"What do you mean, Lumiere?"

Lumiere looked back to the boy on the piano, a young kitchen hand who answered to the chef.

"Oi, Chapeau!" he called, getting the boy to stop playing his cheerful tune.

Lumiere smiled slyly back to the maid, leaning casually on the table.

"I mean, my dear Cate, I'm tired of serving an empty dinner and then spending my evening just as uneventfully!"

She eyed him playfully. Cate was a graceful and pleasant young woman and a maid that took great honor in her title at Saint Veran. Unlike most of the characters on the staff, she was levelheaded and did not mind the slower pace the castle took. Most would see her as personable and happily content, though, she did not share her true feelings with many.

"How sorry I am for you, Lumiere," she began, jokingly, "perhaps Mr. Randell here can help entertain you?"

She said, gesturing to the man at the end of the table. The footman glanced up, blowing smoke from his mouth. Mr. Randell, or James Randell, had been hired nearly over three years ago, though most found his stoic demeanor and harsh words jarring. And many more did not find pleasantness in his company. Though, he was a handsome 28-year-old man, with light blonde hair, sharp features, and an intense brow.

"How 'bout that, Mr. Lumiere?" asked the man, his eye glinting in the light. "Want to take me out on the town for a night?"

Lumiere frowned, looking back to Cate.

"Why do you want to see me so unhappy?" he teased her in a low voice.

"Mr. Lumiere!" called the young man on the piano, Chapeau, who couldn't have been over the age 18. "Why not tell us of that time you got in a fight over Lady Pyridine in that pub?"

"Ah!" cried Lumiere, "Boy! You remind me of good times! Exciting times!"

The young man smiled in adoration for the first footman and turned back to the keys of the piano.

Chapeau played a few low notes as Lumiere dramatically began the story.

Randell rolled his eyes and held the paper up to ignore the sight.

Lumiere went on about a night in a pub years ago, when he was valet to his late Lordship, and the servants had the night off. He was regaling the memory to no one in particular, though, Cate smiled in enjoyment and Chapeau relished hearing the story again.

"And then, I was dancing with the most elegant woman I'd ever laid eyes on. Back then, let me remind you, I was a young man and full of life and love and–"

"And charm?" whispered Cate to Randell as the pair laughed. The story had become so predictable, she was able to repeat of verbatim.

"And charm!" declared Lumiere. "I was so dashing, not a single woman could help but stare…"

"My, my, you don't say?" asked Randell, without a trace of interest in his flat voice.

"And as we danced, she whispered to me that she had been eyeing me all night! Imagine my shock! She even said she knew me, and I asked her where we could have met? I certainty would have remembered such a striking creature!"

Chapeau smiled to Lumiere and played a romantic waltz. Lumiere closed his eyes and held his arms out, dancing a ghost around the room.

"But then!" cried Lumiere suddenly stopping as Chapeau played a suspenseful melody. "A man burst into the tavern! But he wasn't any man, it was a gentleman with a large moustache, dressed to attend an opera! He looked at us, there, in the middle of room and lost all sense of decorum! He charged like a Spanish bull!"

Chapeau smashed the low keys as Lumiere feigned horror.

"But I recognized the man! Laird Pyridine!"

Lumiere leapt onto the table causing Cate to jerk back the apron she had been mending.

"Really, Lumiere?" she cried. "I was just in the middle of –"

"He took me by the collar and slapped me with his glove!" Lumiere continued, ignoring her. "But then, the woman stopped him, she called him her… husband!"

"The plot thickens," quipped Randell, turning a page.

As Lumiere went on, Babette lingered in the entrance of the servant's quarters. She heard the commotion going on, and cautiously walked toward the servant's dining hall.

"I made a narrow escape from the wild fight that erupted!" declared Lumiere. "But that wasn't all! Lady Pyridine, as I now recognized her to be, called out to me as her husband dragged her away! And do you know what she said?"

"Let me take a wild guess…" mumbled Cate.

"She said, _'Oh Lumiere, if you're ever in Scotland, don't hesitate to stop by! You devilish, dashing, noble-"_

Lumiere stopped his story noticing an unfamiliar woman had wandered into the room. He stared to her, his face turning to a look of surprise. This caused the others to turn her way as well.

Babette made a nervous smile to the servants.

"Hello," she said meekly.

Lumiere jumped down from the table, stylishly landing before her. He adjusted his collar as she stared to him, her eyes wide in shock. She looked to him as if he were a wild man that had just sprang from the forest and professed he was raised by wolves.

And, before he had a moment to gallantly introduce himself, an older woman hurried in to the room, beckoned by the odd sound of sudden silence.

"Oh! My dear, you must be our new maid!" said the woman, rushing to greet Babette.

The girl made a small curtsy. "Oui, Madam- I mean, yes."

"Ah, Ms. Plumette, welcome to Saint Veran Castle! Though, it seems you've already got a welcome, of sorts…" she said, eyeing Lumiere who only looked to Babette.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Potts," said Cate to the woman, "she was bound to realize we're all mad here, sooner or later."

"Yes, Madam, and thank you," said Babette awkwardly to the woman named Mrs. Potts. "I'm so eager to begin my work here," she added, regretfully glancing to Lumiere.

It was not often that a girl would cause Lumiere to be speechless. Yet, the young woman had a quality about her that made him feel oddly like they had met before...

He looked away as she glanced to him. He cursed himself. He did not want to give her such a strange first impression. Yet, so far, to her he was only a wild Frenchman who unnervingly stared at women.

Babette decided to ignore him, for the time being, and smile back to Mrs. Potts.

The middle-aged woman was the respected housekeeper and, though she was thoroughly professional, she also cared deeply for other servants of the house. Babette was instantly taken by her warm smile, kind eyes, and humble confidence.

"Well, there will be enough time for introductions later," said Mrs. Potts, leading Babette out of the room. "We are in desperate need of your help after the sudden leave of old Mrs. Kurigan! No time to waste in showing you where things are!"

* * *

"I still don't understand what you're so giddy about, that man seems absolutely mad!" said Belle to Clare as they sat in the study where the family had congregated after dinner.

As the pair conversed, Emilia looked over pictures on the fireplace, while Maurice and Marguerite spoke quietly over brandy.

"How can you say all of that before you met him?" whispered Clare.

"Because I know his type, and don't you too?" asked Belle. "Entitled and pouty, while being totally consumed by himself, for whatever reason."

"And how do you know all that by hearing a few rumors?"

Belle sighed in annoyance, "Why are we even still talking about him?"

"Because of the intrigue. He's enigmatic. Can't you just picture him? I bet he's handsome, lounging around a castle all day, thinking sadly of his parents. It's so romantic… And then, imagine being the girl to bring light back to his life…"

Belle grimaced at her sister's words.

"They are all stunners, Maury," said Marguerite looking to the girls getting a proud smile from Maurice. "Oh, would darling Beatrice be beaming in pride looking at them."

He nodded, sipping his drink. "They are my world. Absolutely, my world…"

Then, his sister's smile altered as she stared to him.

"Old Maury… won't you tell me how it is? And- please - don't feel the need to lie."

His brow creased, but then he grinned to her. Hoping not to cause her too much worry.

"My doctor implored me to leave the city and get some fresh country air. He said moving here was a capital idea. He also implied I would need help, eventually. It's genetic, you see. Like father's bad blood circulation. They say it's my heart."

"I see. And, is there anything to be done?"

He smiled again, causing her to smile back sadly.

"It's not be worried about."

* * *

Babette unlocked her trunk placed on her bed that rested in a small room with second bed for her roommate. Cate, who was to once again share her room, walked in holding a candelabra and smiling to Babette.

"Bonjour!" said the woman in an English accent, wishing to make the new maid feel comfortable. "My name's Cate, I'm the head housemaid and I'm ever so pleased to make your acquaintance!"

Babette smiled to her, removing a bundle of clothes from her trunk.

"Thank you, Miss. I as well."

"It looks like we are to be roommates!" said Cate with a friendly smile, sitting on her bed next to Babette's. "And, did I hear your name was Babette Plumette? Now, that's a name if I've ever heard one!"

" _Oui_ \- I mean yes," Babette sputtered, setting her trunk aside.

Cate felt a bit uncomfortable by the girl's obvious nerves. Though, she could not help but to notice what an odd beauty Babette was. She had black hair, dark eyes, and large pink lips. She was bewitching in her uniqueness and all together and eye catching person.

"You need not feel out of place here," began Cate again. "You see, a lot of the servants here are French. Why, I'm sure you'll all be good friends in no time."

Babette seemed to pause at the thought. Cate only continued with her warm welcome.

"And, I hope we shall be friends, as well."

"With all do respect," began Babette quietly, "and I mean this as kindly as I can say - I'm not the very friendliest of people."

Cate was taken back for a moment, but laughed off the odd comment.

"No need to worry then. We have a man like that here. His name is Randell and he can be quite the sour puss. Far more sour than you, I'm sure."

Babette said nothing, only straightened out her bed. Cate understood she was not trying to be rude, and she was able to see through her coldness. She believed it would only take some time for Babette to settle in before she could openly be herself.

"Where you from, Babette? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh," she said with a shrug. "just some village. And you?"

"Oh, England. Just some isle," Cate laughed.

* * *

Lumiere meandered through the female servant's hall where their bedrooms were located. He did not seem to have much of a plan in mind as he examined each door and slowly walked, pondering some troubling thing.

"Wha- Lumiere?!" came a bellowing voice causing Lumiere to practically jump. He clutched his chest and looked back to see a tall, lanky, older man angrily looking his way.

"Oh, it is only you, _mon ami_."

"Only me?!" began the man in confused rage. "And whom were you expecting in the lady's quarters?"

"No one! I was only just… just seeing- looking…"

"Seeing? Looking? Now, I am _fully_ aware of the _sort_ you are, but this is low, even for a man of your standards!"

Lumiere shut his mouth, something he seldom did around the head of the servants and butler of the house; Ernest Cogsworth.

When the servants were face to face with the proud English man, Cogsworth was respected and feared. Otherwise, he was often the target of lighthearted jokes. Though, he possessed the spirit of a Captain of an army, and held himself to the highest standards. One would think he was attending the king himself instead of the lonely Lord Adam.

"What I meant was," Lumiere continued feeling the heat of Cogsworth's glare, "I was hoping to run into Miss. Plumette, before she retired for the evening."

"Ah, now I see, well, might I just say-"

"If you must," interrupted Lumiere wearily.

"And I must," continued Cogsworth, "that, if I see you engaging with her in any sort of manner, I will not hesitate to send her back to where she came from!"

"You're being awfully harsh, even for… yourself."

"I am being tried, Lumiere. By the Lord of this horse, by the help leaving this estate by the day, and now by _you_!"

Lumiere raised his hands and offered a disarming laugh, "Please, Cogsworth, you know me!"

"Yes. Indeed. And that is why I worry."

"Come now, I believe you are giving me too much credit. I'm getting old, my friend. Almost as old as you when first we met! What would a pretty young thing want with me?"

Cogsworth raised his large bulbous nose to the air, "Yes, years pass, which grant some of us wisdom… You though, you are another story entirely."

With that, the butler turned to leave. But a thought crossed Lumiere's mind, and in the next moment he blurted it out.

"Have you, I wonder, gotten a good look at her?"

Cogsworth stopped in his tracks and eyed the man as if he were mad. Lumiere chuckled at the direction the man took his innocent question.

"I mean- did you notice what I may have noticed?"

"I have not!" declared the man, highly offended. "And I am clueless as to what you could possibly mean!" he quickly stormed off before commanding a befuddled Lumiere to follow him.

Yet, Lumiere took a long glance behind, as if afraid she might have heard. Also, the thing he meant to ask Cogsworth burned in his mind. The question; _did she not at all look familiar to you, as well?_


	3. April 1911 p2

**A/N:** Thank you CarolNJoy! Yes, there's no need to know anything about Downton Abbey before reading this. It just greatly inspired me and helped with research for learning about this era. But if I don't point it out myself I'm sure everyone else will lol. Whenever I write Belle she's such a snob. I sort of love it. I feel like the 2017 movie did sort of capture that about her.

Thanks to LostGirl24 as well! Hope you continue on this journey with me!

* * *

 **April 1911**  
Part 2.

* * *

Emilia and Clare walked through the village in early afternoon. The girls had mostly been exploring the shops and inns to familiarize themselves with the town. And, after spending a good amount of time wandering the dirt roads and stone paths, they had realized the country setting was far less exciting than the hustle and bustle of the city.

"Belle may want adventure," began Clare as they made their way through the quiet village, "but is it so bad to want to settle somewhere? Have a normal stable life?"

Emilia looked to her from under her wide brimmed hat.

"Belle could be given the world on a silver platter and then crave for the moon!" she exclaimed, "You should have heard her talking about this village last week, the day we moved in. She called it provincial! I don't even know what that word means."

"It means 'bad' to her…" said Clare, glancing across the street. It was then she noticed a familiar figure engaged in conversation with a salesperson. She looked away hoping she would go unnoticed.

"She'll realize one day just how wrong she is," said Clare smiling to Emilia. "Mark my words! Soon, a man is going to put her in her place and throw her over his shoulder!"

"My, my, that sounds… horrible!"

"That's what a real man does! He takes charge! He's knows what's best."

"And who will you marry? Napoleon himself?"

"Ha! Don't be silly. I just want someone who can hold a conversation without bringing up the weather four times." Then, Clare began to think. "Actually… I wouldn't mind a man who… who is a little less than plainly agreeable."

"How do you mean?"

Clare blinked, "I'm not sure how to put it, really. I'm only bored with the men we meet. I guess I'd like a man of earth. Someone real. Perhaps with a little glint in his eye."

"Oh? A charming devil, then?"

"If he's charming then so be it, if he's a devil, well, let me enter hell!"

"Watch out!" cried a man's voice behind them as he suddenly lost control of a wheel barrel. The man pushed by the sisters, yelling all the way. Clare leapt to the side as Emilia also went to jump out of the way. Though, the younger sister's heal caught on the cobblestone causing her ankle to twist as she tumbled directly into the road. Clare looked up to scene horrified as she noticed her sister was laying in the path of an oncoming car.

"Emilia!" she cried, about to run to her aid.

But, before she could take a step forward, a man darted in front of Emilia and pulled her back to safety. In the next moment, the car drove by where Emilia was laid helpless a moment ago. Clare ran to her sister and threw herself to the ground beside her.

Emilia winced in pain in the arms of the man Clare instantly recognized as Ricky, their footman. He had been the one she noticed across the street before and she was thankful he had been so near.

"Cogsworth! Aren't you a worthy hero! You've saved my sister!"

Ricky looked down to the young woman, holding her arm as she clutched onto his.

"Are you all right, milady?" he asked, looking her over.

Emilia looked wide-eyed to the man that had saved her life.

"My apologies, miss!" cried the man that had lost control of the wheel barrel. He looked terribly sorry but Clare only shot him a crude glare.

"It's 'My Lady' to you!" she corrected him, causing a great look of fear in his eyes.

"Clare," began Emilia, feeling sorry for the man. "It's all right, sir. It was an accident! I'll live."

The man could only ring his hat nervously in his hands before making a quick bow and backing away.

"Are you hurt?" Clare asked loudly, noticing she looked to be in shock. "That was a bad fall you took."

"I-I don't know," she said, looking back to the handsome green eyes of the man who had saved her. "I felt a sharp pain in my ankle. I might have broken it… I won't be able to stand…"

"Well, don't try to," said Ricky. "Put your arm around my neck," he commanded and she obeyed. He helped her to feet and she leaned into him.

"What are we to do?" cried Clare, looking to her dire state. "My father's heart will not be able to take the shock of this!"

Emilia gasped as Ricky hoisted her into his arms, almost as effortlessly as lifting a cat.

They looked to each other, and Clare watched, trying to discern which one looked more shocked.

"Don't you ladies worry," said Ricky, glancing to Clare. "I'll take you through the kitchen entrance so no one will see, and I'll call for the doctor!"

He began walking off as Clare looked to him, mouth agape.

"Wait for me!" she cried, running to their side.

* * *

"Ah! Chappie!" declared Marguerite, triumphantly waving a small note in her hand. She strolled into the study where Belle lounged reading the newspaper. "He has answered the call and shall be the first to dine with us!"

Belle stared to her for a long moment before it occurred to her that she should pretend to care.

"Oh?" she asked before looking back to her paper.

Marguerite frowned.

"Darling?" she asked taking a seat beside her in the grand study. Belle glanced to her over the paper

"Mmm?"

"You seem rather… well, rather blue. Since you've arrived, that is."

"Blue? Auntie, you know me. I'm positively bright yellow!"

She then looked back over the paper, her brow knitting in worry.

"Now, I don't know why this fool hasn't been assassinated yet! It appears all of France hates the man…" Belle cried with detest.

"Dear," said the aunt again, more forcefully.

"Yes?"

As Marguerite looked to the young woman then, she was suddenly reminded of Belle's late mother.

Marguerite had never been too close to the daughters of her brother, but she did meet them, now and again as children. Belle had always been a serious girl with big brown eyes that would bend any victim to her whim. Marguerite had desperately wished that Belle would grow out of being so icy and intrepid. Unfortunately, she was beginning to realize that the years had only jaded the girl further. The loss of her mother could not have been easy on her, after all.

"I want us to be friends, dear girl. I want us to talk personally and know one another."

Belle felt like asking _why_ , though she bit her tongue and smiled.

"Of course. I do as well. But, we are just talking about you and I? There's not some unfortunate suitor you wish to spring on me?"

The aunt's smile altered and Belle frowned.

"Oh, dear me, I'm afraid I've said too much," said Belle, shielding her suddenly flushed face with the paper.

"I see a lonely sadness in you. And I worry for you girls and your future, only because I deeply care."

"I'm not sad, or lonely!" Belle laughed at the absurdity. "Really, you should put your efforts into Clare. She's the one who actually wants a husband."

The aunt squinted at Bell who cheerfully smiled back.

"And you promise, you're happy here? And not at all blue?" asked Marguerite.

"Why, I'm a gay as a day in May!" Belle declared before getting back to the paper in her hand.

* * *

Babette watched as Cate demonstrated how to properly fluff the pillows found in one of various sitting rooms in Saint Veran Castle.

She smiled to Babette as the new maid patiently watched.

"And there!" said Cate, stepping back to look at the tidy sofa. "It's about as easy as that."

Babette nodded, "The manor I worked at didn't hardly have as many rooms."

"That's the tricky thing about this castle," answered Cate, "it took me a whole year to learn it properly. Between the library, the small library, the sitting room, the dining room, the main hall, the study, the drawing rooms, the bedrooms, and the guest bedrooms… it can be a bit much."

"I'll say!" said Babette as she helped Cate dust a table full of framed pictures.

The odd thing about the castle was that it was teaming with hints of life and memories. From oil paintings of the lords who came before, to priceless heirlooms scattered on display here and there. The castle was like a museum of family history. And yet, not a person belonging to the family could be spotted.

"Does his Lordship ever come out from his studies?" asked Babette causing Cate to glance to her.

"Of course, he does. He likes to keep to himself, though."

"Oh, that would explain why I haven't seen a hint of him the whole week I've been here…"

"He's a shy man. Most wouldn't believe it, but most don't really know him."

"Shy? That's not what I heard."

"And what did you hear?"

Babette paused for a moment, "Well… I only heard what Randell had whispered to me. But I think he's trying to scare me."

"Sounds like him. But what did he say?"

Babette felt silly repeating what he had said to her. Though, she had been thinking about it often.

"He said, the man's a beast. And, he told me he's wickedly short tempered. That… one glance of his icy eye is like a glare from the devil himself!"

Cate covered her mouth as she giggled.

"And you believed him?"

"I have no choice. I've yet to see the man for myself."

"Well, I suppose Randell's right about one thing. The man has a temper and is keen to raise his voice. But… I dunno… I guess I see a bit more than that in him."

"How do you mean? Do you see him often?"

"I used to. When his father was alive and I first moved here. My word, the balls old Lord Ravenwood would throw! And the servant's dance was the best of all!"

Cate laughed at the memories, as she was miles away. Babette envied her then. She was a plain girl, though she had a twinkle in her eye that gave her a certain charm. And when she smiled, as she did then, she had a faultless beauty about her.

"Oh… but we still have good times," Cate added. "Just not as annually, I suppose."

"What was he like, then? Lord Adam?"

"Handsome. Young," she shook her head. "He looked up to his father so much. Followed his every move. You see, young Lord Ravenwood was never a beast. It was his father. And I'm just waiting for the day he realizes he's his own man, and nothing will change the past."

Babette was about to ask another question, one that had been burning on her mind since entering the castle, but the commanding voice of Mrs. Potts stopped her.

"Ladies? Having a spot of tea and a chat?" she asked, bursting into the room. The two maids stood at attention as she looked to them. The house keeper had a way about that was stern without being nasty. And while she did not take nonsense, Babette sensed she was not truly cross that they had been caught slacking off.

"Sorry, Mrs. Potts," said Cate, turning back to dust the mantle.

"That's all right, Cate. But, Babette?"

"Yes, Madam?"

"Could I tear you away to fix the bedroom?"

"Yes, Madam," she said darting off.

Mrs. Potts followed behind her as they walked through the room, and once they got to the hallway, Babette had the urge to ask her a question.

"I've tided all the bedrooms this week," she began, timidly. "Though, one remains locked? Might I have the key? I'm sure it would need a dusting something awful."

Mrs. Potts had slowed down, seeming to be reminded of something she wished she had not. Babette frowned to her.

"No, dear," she answered with a despondent sigh. "And don't worry about that. The room is to always be kept locked under orders of his lordship."

Mrs. Potts smiled to her before walking off. Babette watched the back of her and was left desperately wondering _why_.

* * *

"Here! Bring her here!" said Ricky, holding open the door so Clare could help Emilia limp into the servant's quarters. He then pulled a chair out for the injured girl where she carefully sat down.

"Perhaps you should elevate it?" he asked pulling over another chair, and without thinking, gingerly placing her hurt foot on it. Emilia felt a flutter in her chest at the sensation of the man's hands on her ankle. She felt as daring as a human cannonball, being ejected into the sky.

As his hands lingered about her lower calf, Digby entered the room and nearly collapsed in shock.

"What on God's green earth…?" he asked, short of breath as he clutched his chest. The three looked back to him as he stumbled to the side, catching himself on the table.

Ricky quickly stood up, clearing his throat and turning away from Emilia who straightened out her skirts.

"The young lady had an accident in town and is in need of a doctor," he attempted to explain, though the nervous butler did not seem to be put at ease.

"I'm so sorry to be a bother!" began Emelia, "it's only, my father is likely to drop dead if he sees me injured!"

"Yes," continued Clare, trying to ease the man further, "and if it wasn't for the agility and quickness of Mister Cogsworth, why, my sister could my far more severely injured."

Digby tried to nod, though he still felt as though his heart may race out of his chest.

"How terrible, I'll fetch a doctor!" he said, turning back to the stairs as his legs wobbled beneath him.

"Oh, and Digby!" called Clare getting him to turn back around, "please remember, this is to be kept quiet."

"Y-yes, m'lady," he said, making to leave before being stopped, again.

"But, what about Belle?" asked Emilia. "Shouldn't she know? So she can cover for us?"

Clare and Digby looked to one another.

"How about I go upstairs and tell her?" proposed Clare. "And, if anyone else asks, I'll just tell them you went to lay down after feeling a bit ill!"

Emilia's eyes widened at Clare.

If Emilia had been more boldly outspoken as her sisters were, she would have declared how uncomfortable she felt at the idea of being left in the servant quarters alone. Though, Clare's brave smile installed a bit of hope in her, somehow.

"I'll watch after her, milady." said Ricky, causing Emilia to slightly glance his way. "Until the doctor comes."

Clare smiled to Ricky who grinned kindly back to her.

"There, that solves it all!" she chirped before turning to leave with the panicky Digby. "The Doctor will be here shorty, I'm sure Emilia!"

The pair left, and Ricky and Emilia found themselves suddenly alone.

* * *

"Oi, what do you think of the new maid, Lumiere?"

Lumiere blew a plume of smoke to the air as he stood outside the castle on his noon break. He removed the cigarette from his lips and looked to the smug face Randell.

"She's fine," he said, glancing away as the footman walked to his side.

"Oh really?" he asked curiously. "Well, I imagine she would have to be. To acquire such long and thoughtful stares from you…"

Lumiere glared to the man, giving in to his pettiness.

"Is it so surprising to you? I look at all pretty women," answered Lumiere casually. Randell only stared to him with the same self-satisfied grin.

The man was oily. Perhaps not literally, but in the way he slicked back his blonde hair and pieced a person with his light blue eyes. He had an appearance that one would not call handsome, but pretty, and effeminate. Far from the man's man Lumiere found himself to be.

"You must think me daft not to have realized that by now," the English man muttered.

"Then what are you getting at?"

Randell smirked, "I like gossip."

"I'm sorry, _mon ami_ , that is one thing we do not have in common. Among many things," he laughed, not trying to cut the man down too harshly.

"I'm only curious," he said stepping closer to Lumiere. "You don't have anything to say about her? Just for the sake of friendly banter?"

Lumiere frowned. There was nothing friendly about Randell. In fact, he only spoke to others if it served some sort of purpose of his. He was power crazed and saw Lumiere as the only thing standing between him and the position of butler, once Cogsworth finally retired.

And, since Lumiere had spent so many years at Saint Veran, it would prove near impossible to present some sort of information that would get him fired. Yet, that did not deter Randell. And now that Babette hand wandered into service, he saw a new opportunity to ruin him. After all, any servants entangling themselves in romantic affairs would be sacked with no questions asked.

"As I said, she is a fine young woman," said Lumiere, shaking his head. "Too fine for me."

"Never stopped you before."

"Well, it's stopping me now."

"I do wonder why."

Lumiere took a drag from his cigarette and chuckled to himself.

"What do _you_ think of her, _mon ami?"_ he asked, wishing to deflect the man's pushiness.

Randell smirked. "I think she has many promising qualities. Well, mainly two. One being her front… the other being her back…"

Lumiere felt himself slightly tense at the second-footman's rude comments. Though, he was not entirely certain why. From the moment he had laid eyes on Babette he felt an attachment to her. Unfortunately, he had yet to have a moment alone with her since she arrived. And a part of him figured it was for the best. True, he was a lady's man, but jumping on the first available young woman to step through the door in ages seemed tactless, even for him.

"But, you see…" whispered Randell. "I rather think she's hiding something."

Lumiere had half a mind to walk away, though his curiosity got the better of him.

"And what makes you think that?"

"You know _my_ past… spent a lot of time among thieves… I know _their_ type."

Lumiere narrowed his brow. Everyone knew of Randell's past, though, Lumiere had never been certain that Randell himself knew that.

"You aren't implying-"

"I only worry for his lordship, is all. To have someone of that kind wandering around his castle."

"You're mad!" he laughed, "And bored. You have no proof of the kind of person she is!"

"I don't? That's odd," said the man, fishing for a cigarette in his pocket. "I did see her wandering the other day… and trying desperately to get into her Ladyship's room, God rest her soul."

"And that makes her a thief?"

Randell shrugged, a cigarette hanging between his lips.

"It makes her suspicious."

* * *

"Oh, Clare?" called Marguerite as Clare had been walking past the study. She froze in her tracks and sighed before peeking into the room.

"Yes, Auntie?" she asked walking into the room to notice her aunt was lounging alone.

Her aunt smiled to her before her eyes widened in shock.

"My dear!" she cried getting up, causing Clare's heart to drop.

"What?" cried Clare, "Whatever is it?"

"Your frock, dear! Why, did you suffer a fall in town?"

Clare look down to notice a tear in her dress at the knee. She cursed herself for not realizing she must have torn it when falling to the aid of her sister.

"Yes," began Clare, rolling her eyes at her own folly, "Why, now I remember. I tripped on a loose cobblestone in the village. Clumsy me!"

Marguerite looked to her oddly for a moment. Clare felt her own eyes grow wide with anxiety. But then, her aunt merely shrugged and patted her on the shoulder.

"Well, not to worry! I have a wonderful seamstress in Paris, I'll have it sent out for you."

"Oh!" said Clare awkwardly smiling a little too large. "Say, have you seen Belle about?"

* * *

"Where in the world is the doctor?!" whispered Mrs. Browning tensely as she eyed a window in the kitchen that looked to the servant's hall. There still sat Emilia, alone.

"Bloody baby's being born across town," said Ricky dejectedly. "Poor girl's had to wait hours. What are we gonna do with her for dinner?"

"Well, if it's some sort of secret up there, I imagine she'll have to eat down here!"

"Here?" cried the footman.

" _Here!_ What? Don't go English on me, Cogsworth."

"It's not about being English!" he retorted, crossing is arms.

"No?" she asked. "For a moment, I thought I was standing before Old Mister Cogsworth!"

He eyed her as she turned back to her cooking. Alongside the cook was a young French woman aiding her in the kitchen work. An apprentice named Lizzy. She was a quiet, stout, girl who Ricky often found some enjoyment in teasing. He could make her blush with no more than a nod and a smile.

Ricky stood by awkwardly for a few moments before walking back to where Emilia sat alone. It was not like him to be shy around a young lady, but that was just the thing. She was a Lady. A proper one. And he had no experience in talking to them.

She looked halfway up to him, sensing him staring to her. He cleared his throat and straightened his back a bit.

"Uh, how are you feeling, milady?" he asked, his hands behind his back.

"Hungry," she said with a pout. "I haven't even had a proper lunch."

"And, I take it, you won't be joining the others for dinner?"

"Only if the doctor arrives in the next moment, I'm afraid."

Ricky blinked, finding it hard to speak his next words.

"Would- would you like for me to serve you… down here, milady?"

Her face lit at the thought, "Oh yes! That would be fine. If it's no trouble for you, that is."

"Of course not, milady," he said, slightly shocked by her agreement. He knew Marguerite would certainly never agree to such a request. Then again, she was never stuck below stairs with a possibly broken limb.

Digby had entered the servant's dining hall and watched on for a moment before growing heated at the sight of the two engaging in familiar chat.

He cleared his throat and Ricky turned to his attention.

"Cogsworth, dinner is prepared."

Ricky nodded and was about to follow him upstairs but stopped, turning back to Emilia.

"Don't worry about it," called Mrs. Browning from the kitchen. "I'll fix her a plate!"

Ricky winked to her before smiling to Emilia and leaving to attend the dinner upstairs.

* * *

Belle and Clare eyed each other tensely as they sat for dinner, down one sister.

"Where is she?" mouthed Belle as she sat across from Clare.

"Downstairs still!" Clare mouthed back.

"WHAT?!" cried Belle silently.

"I hear lamb's on the menu tonight!" came the cheery voice of Marguerite, getting both the girls to smile to her.

"Very well," said Maurice taking a seat. "I've worked up quite the appetite after my tour of the estate today. What friendly gardeners you have working here! Do you know one of them is related to the painter Monet? His very second cousin! Or was it his removed nephew…?"

Marguerite looked a tad frightened at that.

"Dear, I had no clue. Why, I hope they didn't chat you up too long out there," she laughed haughtily.

"Quite the contrary, I was the one doing the chatting."

It was then that the father noticed Emilia's now usual seat was empty.

"Dear me, where is my youngest daughter?"

"Oh, she's not feeling well!" Clare blurted out, getting a glare from Belle.

When Clare informed Belle what had happened, Belle argued that they should have went to her first. She was, after all, the best liar in the family and the only one capable of keeping an unbothered demeanor, no matter the chaos. Clare, on the other hand, was dreadful at storytelling.

"Right," agreed Belle with a smile, as not to worry her papa. "Just slight faintness, I instructed her to lay down and will be checking in on her very soon," she added looking sternly back to Clare.

Clare felt her face grow hot as she glanced to Ricky who stood nearby. He looked to her but quickly glanced away. Belle noticed the odd exchange but Marguerite's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"I was telling Belle about this earlier today, but I might as well announce it again now," began the aunt.

"Captain Chappie has been the first to accept my invitation and him, his daughter, and his son with accompanying us early next month. And I've invited them to stay for the night for the first day of hunting."

"Marvelous," said Maurice. "The man is a one off! And I can only imagine his offspring have followed in his footsteps."

"They are large ones to fill, but I imagine you'll find them all enchanting," commented Marguerite. "Why, his son has really become something of a local champion. He's served in the English army and now resides in the family's country villa for the summer. He even owns a tavern in town christened after the family name; Gaston's Hunting Lodge."

Belle glanced up at the name, not certain why.

 _Gaston,_ she thought to herself, _what a dreadful sounding French name._

"Sounds like a real business man!" came Maurice.

"Business man, hunting aficionado, heir to a marvelous estate, and prime for the picking…" added Marguerite, sipping her wine and looking to Belle.

Belle frowned at her implication.

"I'm surprised he hasn't been picked already, by the sound of it," she commented sharply.

"He's a worldly man," explained the aunt, "I'm sure he never had the time for courting until quite recently. Believe man, any woman that can land a man like that will be living the dream."

"Who's dream, exactly?" asked Belle as the main course was placed before them by Ricky.

"Who's dream?!" laughed Clare, "Any sane girl would dream of a man half as-"

Belle slyly hit over her drink, pouring it onto her dress. Ricky pulled back, confused what had happened.

"Blimey!" cried Belle, getting up and glaring to him. "Careful now, Cogsworth! These things don't come in the mail every day."

"Milady, I'm so terribly sorry! How clumsy of me!" apologized a thoroughly confused Ricky as Digby scowled to him.

"No, no, it's perfectly all right," she said with a smile, calming herself and looking back to her family. "I'll just go back to my room to change," she said before excusing herself and offering Ricky a long glance, implying she had other intentions. He narrowed his brow to her.

"My God, man! Will you not be more careful in the presence of a Lady?!" yelled Digby, in a wheezing voice.

"I-I'm sorry, sir," said Ricky, before backing away from the table.

"Please, Digby," Maurice spoke up. "Don't humiliate the boy. We've all spilled things before. It will dry."

"It will stain," said Marguerite between bites of lamb.

Belle walked out of the room, giving one last forewarning look to Clare. She then stopped Ricky on his way back downstairs.

"I'm so sorry about that, Cogsworth. Had I known Digby was such a hothead…"

"It's perfectly fine, milady… but you did mean to ruin your own dress, didn't you?"

"Yes," she whispered, walking with him into the shadows of the study. "How silly of me, really. Goes to show how one must walk on eggshells in settings like this."

He smiled and she smiled back before worry filled her eyes once more.

"Pray tell," she began, "where is Doctor Undercuffler? Did he arrive yet?"

"Not yet, milady. He's off on the far side of town tired up with… with something else."

Belle sighed aggravated.

"How _bloody_ ridiculous!" She cursed, an elegantly gloved hand covering her forehead. He stared to her, not expecting to hear such language from someone of her breed.

"Forgive me!" she said, realizing how uncomfortable he looked. "My, how un-lady like you must think me."

"No, don't be. I mean - I understand," he sputtered causing her to look to him.

"Milady," he quickly added.

"You know what I'm going to do?" she began, a wild glint suddenly in her eye. "I'll drive over to the hospital, why, it isn't far from here is it?"

Ricky frowned at the idea, "Uhhh, is that a good idea… milady?"

"Well, no, not really. But what else am I to do? Perhaps there's a nurse on hand who could help?"

Ricky began to talk again, but Belle interfered.

"No, that settles it. I'll get the driver to take me immediately. If it's a brake it could be ghastly if not dealt with in a timely manner."

"Well, let's hope it's not as bad as all that, milady."

"No… and forgive me for holding you up. You better get back to it before Digby blows a gasket!"

Ricky nodded, and with that, the two parted ways.

* * *

Emilia had eaten her meal in record time. She looked to Lizzy, the kitchen maid, who poured hot water into her teacup.

"What do you do here?" asked Emilia with a friendly smile to a get wide-eyed stare from the girl.

"I- uh, clean dishes, m-m'lady."

"Oh… how do you do that?"

"With water."

"I see… and you do the cooking too?"

"Oh, no, my Lady, I leave that to Mrs. Browning," she giggled. "I just boil water and make tea."

"I see. Well. I'm not sure how either of those things are done!"

Lizzy's eyes grew even wider, "You don't?"

"Lizzy!" cried Mrs. Browning. "She's a Lady. Of course she doesn't know those sorts of things!"

Emilia smiled uncomfortably as Digby trotted down the staircase defeated.

"This has plainly been the worst day of my professional life," he complained, almost forgetting Emilia had been still sitting in the dining hall. "Forgive my frank speech, my lady."

"It's quite all right. Aren't you all free to talk as you wish down here, anyway?"

The group eyed one another before Ricky entered the room.

Emilia glanced down as he looked the group over.

"Lady Belle went to fetch a nurse at the hospital."

"I do hope help arrives before nightfall," said Mrs. Browning.

"And what are we to do if it doesn't?" asked Digby.

"Set up a home for the disabled!" cried Mrs. Browning sarcastically, "Really, what sort of question is that?"

Emilia looked to her hands that rested on the table as if they were endlessly interesting.

"This is entirely unsuitable," proclaimed Digby, "I will be in my study if I am needed. With all due respect, my lady, I no longer wish to be apart of this."

"Perfectly fine, Digby," she said with as pleasant a smile she could manage.

"Lizzy! Help me with the dishes!" cried Mrs. Browning causing the girl to fly to her aid.

Ricky took the seat across from Emilia with a shrug.

"Bit of an odd day, aye milday?"

"Bit," she agreed as her eyes flickered up to the man across from her.

It was funny. She had always been surrounded by servants, maids, chauffeurs, and footmen. It was in her nature to be kind and courteous to them. However, they had never been more than a face in the background. And now, since coming to live so closely to footmen and maids, she had begun to realize she never really did count them as actual living people. It took one saving her life for her to comprehend she could socialize as normally with them as she socialized with dukes and duchesses.

In the course of a few moments, Ricky became more than a footman. Not only was he some stern-faced suit that only spoke 'yes, sir' or 'no, sir'. He was a young man, in all his brazen charm and mischievous glance. And Emilia took notice.

Also, she remembered she had never thanked him.

"Oh, Cogsworth. I don't believe I ever thanked you for saving my life, earlier. But thank you. As dismal as that sounds…"

He glanced up her.

Her own good looks were not missed by Ricky. Though, she had a proud Beaumont quality that reminded him of her position with every breath she took. From the straightness of her back, to her high chin, she was a Lady, even if circumstances might suggested otherwise.

Still, she was a young woman in need of bucking up. And, thankfully for her, there were few things Ricky did better than bucking.

He pulled a deck of cards from his breast pocket and shuffled them in front of her.

"Know how to play rummy, milady?"

* * *

"I suppose today is just not a good day for dresses," began Marguerite seated in the study with Maurice and Clare. "First Clare's frock and now Belle's evening gown?"

"What happened to your frock?" asked Maurice to Clare, who was prepared to shrug it off until her aunt interrupted.

"She had a fall in town today and tore it at the knee, poor thing."

"A fall?" he cried, "I heard nothing of this. Are you all right, darling?"

"Obviously, papa," she said with a smile. "It was nothing. Hardly worth talking about."

"Or, perhaps it is," began Marguerite, "some of those cobblestone roads need to be repaired in town! Where did you fall, dear? Was it near the market, by chance?"

"No."

"Oh, you must have been near the park then?"

"No…"

"Then tell us! Where?!"

Clare gawked to them for a long moment, "It… was…. Just beside the… inn."

"Which inn?"

"Hm?" she asked, getting an odd look from her father who could always tell when she was hiding something.

"Clarice," he said sternly causing her to look to him.

"Yes, papa?"

"What are you not telling us?"

"Nothing! I swear!"

They both glared to her and she caved under their intense scrutiny.

"Emilia fell into the road and almost died but Cogsworth saved her though she broke her leg and has been downstairs in the servant's hall for hours unattended waiting for the doctor!"

"WHAT?!" yelled the father getting up, but then falling back down.

"Papa!" she cried, though he swatted away her concern.

"I got up too quickly that is all. But, my God! How could you not have told us sooner?!"

"We didn't want you to… to worry!"

"What does it matter now?" declared the aunt, "Let us attend to this poor girl!"

* * *

Ricky and Emilia had thrown out the idea of rummy and Ricky had taken to impressing her with his skills in magic.

"Is THIS your card?" he asked, picking out the joker. She shook her head and he frowned tossing it to the side.

He raised a thick eyebrow to her.

"I know you're lying to me, trying to make it appear like this isn't impressing you."

She eyed him before he pulled out the queen of hearts.

"How about this one? Is _this_ your card, milady?"

She laughed loudly at him.

"No!" she cried. "Won't you give up already?!"

He smiled and got up, only to sit on the table before her. She smiled up to him and he reached just behind her ear. And then, be produced a coin.

"But… is this your coin?"

She gasped, snatching it from him his hand to examine it.

"How did you do that?!"

He laughed, "I suppose, it was just behind your ear…"

"I suppose," she said, blushing, as he reached to her ear again.

Then, there was a fleeting moment where she wondered if he would perhaps caress her cheek, or run a hand through her hair. Truthfully, he wondered the same thing.

And, just when they were about to discover what would happen next, they were interrupted by the rushed entrance of Emilia's family.

Maurice was the first to happen upon the scene. A scene that included a footman reaching for the face of his daughter as they sat close by one another, her smiling up to him.

"What the devil?!" he proclaimed, his voice tearing them apart. Ricky instantly jumped to his feet out of respect for the man.

Emilia looked to her father before smiling to the shocked man.

"Oh, papa!" she began, as happily as she may. "Cogsworth here was just entertaining me…. did I miss dinner?"

"Emilia!" called Belle, swinging into the servant's entrance, "So sorry, we're late. This fine doctor had his hands full delivery triplets all afternoo-"

She stopped upon noticing the strangeness of the scene she had stumbled into.

"Well," she said, as a portly Doctor stood at her side, "looks like that gang's all here."

"I don't know where to begin," started Maurice, in the middle of the quiet, tense scene. "But someone better _damn_ well explain this to me!"

* * *

Babette wandered the halls of the Saint Veran Castle. She had spent the evenings familiarizing herself with the grounds and since it was so empty, she saw no problem in having a walk about it.

Though, she entered the upstairs quarters with trepidation. She knew it would mean trouble if anyone were to catch her. Especially, if she were to run into his lordship.

She walked up a grand staircase and turned down a dark hallway. It was then that an odd thought crossed her mind.

She had never been particularly religious or spiritual, yet being surrounded by the faces of dead lords and ladies caused her slight uneasiness. Their facades seemed to eye her through oil paintings and she felt as though she was unearthing some cursed tomb.

And, just when she was imaging a spirit leaping out from the shadows, movement came from the hall causing her to leap back.

She gasped, clutching her chest, to see a man emerge from the darkness. He had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, casually as ever.

"Monsieur!" she cried, recognizing the man. "Do you often lurk in the shadows?"

Lumiere smiled to her, "Forgive me, Miss Plumette. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Well then, you certainly did a good job of it without meaning to do so."

They stared to one another for an uncomfortable moment before Babette tried to excuse herself. He stopped her, stepping to the side and blocking her way. She looked to him as if asking why he would dare do such a thing. He only smiled to her with the same disarming look. And, she suddenly realized she had been caught.

"Uh, uh, uh," be began, jokingly reprimanding her, "would you mind telling me first what you were doing up here?"

Her dark eyes turned to slits as she examined him.

"Do I need to explain myself to you?"

"No, but I could easily tell Cogsworth. If I was that sort of man."

"But, I know you're not."

"And you know me? How is that? When we have yet to properly meet."

She stuck out her hand to him.

"Babette Plumette."

She watched as he gently took her hand and turned it over, placing a kiss on her knuckles. She pulled her hand back and he frowned.

"Aww, you are French, no?"

" _Oui,"_ she cheekily answered, stepping back from him.

"Then, why do you recoil at such greetings?"

"I haven't been allowed to be French in a long time, sir."

"Well, you are allowed to be as French as you please here. That is, as long as you don't plan a revolution."

She looked to him with the same stern eye as he smiled kindly to her.

"Might I go now?"

He arched a brow to her before laughing.

"Could I offer you some advice before you do?"

She looked distastefully to him but he continued.

"Don't wander around at night. People talk here. Some of them aren't as kind as Cate and I."

"Goodnight, sir," she said and turned to leave when he stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Might I know you from somewhere?" he asked to her back.

She felt her heart drop lower than it should and, without answering him, she continued to walk off.

Babette had been encountering the same maddening feeling as Lumiere these past days. That, they had met before. And, all at once, she remembered. In fact, even where they were standing… it was all just as it had been year before.

"Miss Plumette?" he called as she rushed off.

She picked up her skirts before descending the stairs.

"I said goodnight, sir," she answered coldly.

* * *

"You see, papa, Cogsworth's a hero, he saved my life!" concluded Emilia after telling her father in detail what had happened earlier.

"This is inexcusable!" he exclaimed. "It's one thing to have my daughters lie to me, but my staff?! What a farce!"

He sneered, looking back to Digby and Ricky who stood off to the side, careful not to interfere.

"The good news is it isn't broke," said the Doctor kneeling at Emilia's side. "It'll be sensitive for a couple of weeks or so, and advise no dancing or standing for long periods of time."

She sighed in relief, "Thank gosh!"

Belle narrowed her brow to Clare.

"Look what you've done!" she whispered fiercely. "How could you have let it slip? What a scene you've caused."

"Me?" she cried quietly, "Lying about the ankle was one thing, but when we came down here, you should have seen them! He was practically ready to kiss her!"

"What?" gasped Belle, unable to understand. "Who?"

"Why, Cogsworth and Emilia! Who do you think?"

"She will need some assistance getting up the stairs to her room, though," said the Doctor getting up.

"Let me," said Ricky stepping forward only to receive a glare from Maurice.

"Now listen here," said the father, stepping within an inch of the man's face. "I am a modern man in every regard but I do _not_ have the constitution to watch my youngest daughter be seduced by a footman!"

Digby lost the color in his face at the words of the Beaumont father.

"P-pardon me, M'lord?" he asked, having missed why Maurice was so angered in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Digby, but we will have to speak later about the decorum your men show here. And perhaps their future working at this estate all together."

"Y-yes-s-s, m'…m'… " Digby stuttered before falling straight back in a fainting spell, getting a loud cry from the room.

* * *

Belle stepped outside with her father and the doctor.

"Digby will be fine. Though he needs to lessen his work load," Doctor Undercuffler advised.

"You must think us to be barbaric, I'm terribly sorry, my good man," said Maurice.

"On the contrary, I truly did not think today could get any more interesting. Now, I'm certain I shall remember it for years to come."

"How unfortunate," said Belle.

"And you will be coming back?" asked Maurice to the man. "To discuss a proper examination?"

Belle looked worriedly to her father, then back to the doctor who nodded.

"Yes. After hearing of your medical history, I think it would be in your favor to keep in close contact. I am always a call away."

Then, the pair wished the man a goodnight as he entered back into the car.

Maurice sighed as Belle stood uncertainty at his side, watching the car disappear into the night.

"I don't believe it. Any of it," he said, looking down. "How can I know you all so well, and yet you are still mysteries to me?"

Belle frowned, "Oh Papa, footmen are a dime a dozen. I'm certain Marguerite will have no objections in sacking this one."

Maurice looked sadly away.

"No…"

"No?"

He looked up to her, "Wasn't I just bosting about wanting a world where none of this matters? All this pomp and circumstance! Butlers and footmen and whispers at a dinner table… I suppose I got my wish."

"I'm sorry, papa-"

"Don't be," he said, baring a weary grin to her. "I understand why you girls kept this from me. And it is honorable."

"But, you can't continue to have a man of such low standing pining after little Milly! You're asking for trouble."

"Ah, Belle. You have the levelheadedness of your mother."

She narrowed her brow as her mouth fell open, never having heard her father bring up her mother so casually.

He seemed to realize what he had said and walked past, patting her shoulder as he entered back into the servant's quarters.

* * *

The early morning shone throw Saint Veran Castle and Lord Adam found himself walking down to breakfast.

It had been months since he properly arrived at the table to have his coffee and paper. He was greeted by Cogsworth who was more than relieved to see him.

And, after Adam had finished with breakfast and skimmed the newspaper, Cogsworth cautiously approached him with a letter.

"I know sir, how reluctant you are to attend dinner parties. So, I assume you wouldn't want to read this."

"Humor me, Cogsworth," said Adam with a gloomy disposition before snatching the letter from the butler's hand. He frowned deeply looking to the opened letter. "You've opened this?!" he cried. "I'll have you know that is a crime in the English law!"

"Forgive me, sir. It was delivered to the wrong person. It's weeks late at this point."

Adam pouted and read over the letter, suddenly sitting up in his chair. Cogsworth took notice to his intrigue.

"M'lord?" asked Cogsworth.

"It's Lady Beaumont…" he laughed, tossing the paper over his shoulder and sinking back into the chair.

"Right, M'lord. I shall have it dismissed," said Cogsworth, picking up the letter and walking off. Then, suddenly, Adam felt an odd urgency.

"Wait!" he yelled, over his shoulder. "Maurice Beaumont… is he not that mad art collector?"

"My recollection of the London elite is a tad fuzzy, m'Lord…"

Adam got up and took the note from the butler's hand once again.

He read over the words once more, and then again. His eye catching on one name in particular; Belle Beaumont.

Cogsworth looked to him uneasily, not sure what to do.

"M'lord?" he asked, "What is it?"

Adam smiled to Cogsworth, shocking the old man nearly to death.

"She wishes to lure the monster from his cave, then? Well… She should be careful what she asks for."


End file.
